


Untitled

by crushing83



Category: Dead Like Me
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:42:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/543135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crushing83/pseuds/crushing83
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George isn't very happy with how things went with Trip. She goes to see Rube... and things end up going much better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [21 November 2005](http://38gnihsurc.livejournal.com/11873.html).

" _Call_ ," I mutter under my breath. "What a fucking---ugh." I stop talking and kick a pillow across my new room. "What a trip that Trip is."

"Who are you talking to Georgia?"

God, the _last_ person I want to talk to this morning is Daisy. Daisy with her perpetually good mood and bright, shining smile. Fuck her and her mood and smile. Fuck everyone who can smile this morning. I was dumped. And he was my first! I can't believe---

Actually, that's probably why I'm so pissed off. I was completely blown off after letting someone have my virginity. It was hard to let someone into me, and then to have him just blow me off! 

"Georgia? What are you doing in there?" Daisy asks again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

"Nothing, Daisy," I reply. "I'm just having a rough morning."

"Well, you and Rube both," she says as she opens the door. "He gave me an early morning reap, and he was not a happy camper."

"Well, he can join my club," I mutter, tugging a sweater on over my tank top. 

"Where are you going?"

"I need coffee," I grunt, after threading a belt through my jeans. 

"Want company?"

I avoid her eyes and zip my sweater. "No."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'll see you later," I say with a toss of my hair and a roll of my eyes. I grab my purse and car keys and then push past Daisy and head out of the house. 

I don't know where I'm going---until I end up outside of Rube's building. How do my feet do this to me?! Rube doesn't care that I was used and cast aside! He doesn't want to make me feel better! He only cares that we get our reaps in before they get killed! 

Do I go in, or do I keep walking, I ask myself under my breath as I stare at the small tower. After a minute, I decide I might as well. Hey, he could always make me feel better by yelling at me, or by giving me a really good reap before the day officially starts. Who knows what'll happen?

I ask that question again when I'm about to knock on his door. But, not finding an answer, I decide to knock anyway. 

He says something I can't make out, but he opens the door... wearing a coat, a hat, and carrying a suitcase. 

"Peanut, this isn't a good---"

"You're leaving, too?!" I holler, before I even know the words are on the tip of my tongue. 

"George---"

"You're leaving!" I repeat with a wave of my arms. "I don't _fucking_ believe this!"

He looks both ways down the hall and then ushers me inside. I'm stammering and shaking and trying to figure out what to say. He then looks at me with two raised eyebrows. "What gives, Peanut?"

"I can't believe you're leaving!" I yell once the door closes. "All men leave, don't they?! It's just part of their genetic makeup or something?! Honestly! For crying out loud, Rube!" 

Rube sighs and sets his suitcase down. "George, I have to go."

"Of _course_ you do!" 

"What's going on with you?"

I sigh. "Nothing."

Why can't I tell him the truth, if I'm so hell bent on yelling at him? 

Rube comes a little closer. "George... if you don't tell me, I'm gonna go. And then you're gonna go. You know how I feel about having people in my place of residence."

"Oh, go to hell!" I spit out. "You _and_ your man-genes!"

He sighs again. He glares really well. I wonder if he was a dad in a past life. I mean, he puts my mother's glare to shame when he really gives it his all. 

"C'mon, Peanut. Time to go home. Talk to Daisy about your problems."

His hand lands on my shoulder and tugs. I stay rooted to the spot. After another sigh, he tries again. 

"I'll be back tomorrow."

"Sure."

"C'mon. Let's go."

My stomach tightens, much like it did when Trip left. I hate how I feel when a man ditches me---

Hold on. How did I become so dependent on men?! 

I'm not even _with_ Rube. I mean... c'mon, he's Rube. He's like my boss. And... okay, so he has an interesting sense of humour, I guess. And he's got great dark eyes. And he can dress. But, so did Trip---and I know all too well how that ended up. So, I'm just going to think of him as my boss, and yell at him like he's the ombudsman for men. 

"I got dumped," I mumble, again, before the words even registered with my brain. 

"What have I told you about boyfriends, Peanut?"

"He is not---was not my boyfriend," I tell him in the same tone of voice. "I just met him."

"How did you get dumped, then?" he asks. When I look up at him, he says, "Pretend I care."

"We... god, this is too weird," I admit.

"C'mon, go home. I need to make an eleven-thirty appointment---"

"A reap?"

Rube nods. "Yes, and then I need to get on the highway, and---" he stops talking and takes my arm in a firm hold and tugs me towards the door. 

I take a couple of jerky steps, under the pressure, and then I stop. My feet feel glued to the floor. 

"George, I am not kidding."

"I had sex with him," I whisper. The words were there, and I chose to let them loose. It was just too much; I needed to unload. It hurts so much... and I think I was hoping to relieve a little bit of the pain. 

I don't know why I thought telling _Rube_ would help me relieve a little pain. I mean... he really doesn't care about my love life. Or me, probably, in general. 

"Good for you," he mutters. 

"No, I mean... I never had sex before," I ramble. "Alive or undead. But, you probably know that, because of all the information you had on me and won't tell me. So, I met this guy and he supposedly liked me. But, he didn't, really. Because he dumped me the morning after! I was weak and I hate myself and I hate men! I hate all of your breed, Rube. You and your smelly, lying, good looking, sexy breed!"

He is fighting to hide a smile. I suddenly want to punch him. My fist clenches. 

"What are you doing with that?" he asks, with his eyes dropping down to my hand. 

"I was thinking about punching you."

He smiles. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What kind of destruction do you do with that fist?"

"Would you like to find out?" I ask. Rube smiles more. For the first time since Trip left me, I feel a little bit of peace. 

_How does Rube do that?!_ Why does his sense of humour act as a disarming mechanism, while mine is a hardcore arming mechanism?

"C'mon," he says quietly. His grip on my arm is looser. "I have time for coffee before I have to hit the road."

"What about your reap?"

"I lied."

My shoulders tense and I shove him as hard as I can. "You lying man!" I holler. "I knew it! All men lie!"

"Hold it, George," he says quietly, after swaying only a little after my shove. 

I thought I was stronger than that. Apparently not. 

"You probably love 'em and leave 'em, too, dontcha? _Dontcha?!_ "

"Let's have some coffee."

"I don't want to have coffee with a lying, scumbag."

"Oh, you cut me deep, Peanut," he says, his voice laced with sarcasm. "I'm going to forget how mean you're being to me, and I'm going to make us some coffee. And I'm going to try really hard to listen. But, the next time you make me out to be the bad guy, George, I'm gonna have to put my foot down."

I look up at him. His eyes are really _really_ dark. 

They look kind. Gentle. More than Trip's ever did. 

"Do you want coffee?"

I blink twice, and then, before I know it, I'm crying. I'm standing, shaking, whimpering, and crying. 

What a typical girl I've become. 

"Oh, god..." he mumbles. "I... um... George... Peanut... what... I..."

It only took two more really bad attempts at conversation before he wrapped his arms around me. 

He smells so good. 

Who knew Rube smelled so good?

"Shhh," he whispers near my ear. "It'll be okay."

"Don't promise," I mumble into his shoulder. "It's never okay. I'm a reaper."

"Sometimes... sometimes good things happen to us," he replies. 

I lift my head and look at him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says with a smile. He must be trying not to laugh; I must look hilarious, with my puffy eyes and splotchy face. 

"Can I have some coffee?" I whisper. 

"I might even have some shortbread cookies in the pantry."

"Really?"

"Let me go look," he tells me, rubbing my shoulders as he guides me towards the couch. 

I unzip my sweater and curl up on one side of the piece of furniture. It's not incredibly comfortable; but I'm not incredibly comfortable. Maybe, in the end, the couch and I were meant for each other. Maybe I'm just thinking too much. 

"We're in luck, Peanut," he says quietly, shaking me out of my many ridiculous thoughts. "I have cookies."

"Good ones?"

"Shortbread."

"You should have chocolate cookies," I tell him. "Girls like those."

"I don't have girls over to my home," he replies, snorting a little. "Except for annoying undead ones that like to bug me."

"I'm annoying?"

As he sits, he says, "Sometimes."

Honesty. Well, I have to give him credit for that.

I smile a bit and take a cookie off of the plate he put down on the coffee table.

"Thanks."

"I don't like them," he says. "So, it's good someone can eat them."

"No... I mean... thanks for... telling me the... truth."

"I always tell the truth."

I scowl. "Except when you lie."

"Except when I do that," he agrees. 

"Like all men."

"Peanut..."

I sigh and roll my eyes after breaking the cookie apart. "Oh, please. You probably do that to girls all the time. Spend the night with them, and then leave---"

"Your first time is always going to be lousy... alive or undead. It's the first time. Nothing about it is supposed to be perfect," he tells me, leaning back on the couch.

I huff. "Well, he should have at least had the courtesy to---"

Rube interupts. "It's not a rocket launch, Peanut. It's just... it's just sex."

"Well, that sets me up for even more disappointment. Great."

"Sometimes it's almost perfect, but it's just... you can't set yourself up for too much. It's two people getting together," he tells me. "You can't expect too much."

"Is that what you tell the women you ditch?"

He rolls his eyes. "No."

"Oh, you don't throw them anything? Not even an 'it's not you, it's me?'" I ask, feeling myself on the verge of sniffles again.

"I don't sleep around," he says quietly. 

"But, you're a man."

Rube's half-smile returns. "Yes, I am."

"And men... sleep around."

"No, lesser men sleep around. Besides, I'm undead."

"Mason sleeps around."

"Mason's undead and a lesser man."

I shrug. "Sucks to be him."

"It definitely does," Rube agrees. "He'll never get the good girls."

"And you do?"

"I don't get anyone, George."

"Why not?"

"Because keeping track of you guys keeps me too busy."

"Liar," I accuse, after sensing the insincerity in his tone of voice.

"Peanut."

"Why do you call me that?" I demand, suddenly annoyed with him. "It's so... so... you."

"Eat your cookie, Little Georgia," he orders in a gruff voice. "I'm going to go get the coffee."

I roll my eyes and do what he says. He leaves and tinkers with the coffee. When he comes back, the cookie is gone and a million questions are bubbling in my brain. 

"Have you ever done that before?" I ask. 

"Make coffee?" he inquires, his words slow and... and, it kills me to admit, a little sexy. 

" _NO_."

"Well, you don't have to yell about it."

"I mean... have you ever ditched someone after spending the night?"

He shrugs. "I don't remember."

"Even as a reaper?"

He shrugs again. "Don't remember."

"Well... how... why... why do men do that?"

"That guy," he says while handing me the mug of coffee. "He wasn't a good one."

"He's rich and cute!"

"Being rich and cute isn't it. Did he have a sense of humour?"

"A little one," I admit after a sip of coffee. 

"See, he wasn't right. You need someone with a bigger sense of humour than that," Rube replies. "And he left you. Not good enough."

"Well, that much I know!" I exclaim. "I'm just saying that if I'm going to keep meeting really awful men, I'd like to know--- I'd like to know... I'd... I'd just like to---"

I stop talking, and before I knew it, I was crying again. Deeper sobs than before; they hurt my chest and my throat. I could barely breathe, but then, there was that smell again. 

_Rube_. All around me. No more jacket; just soft, sweater arms and chest. Spice and something else that's very nice. 

"I'm sorry you had such a lousy first time," he whispers. "It hurts. I know."

"How would you know?" I manage to ask between two very painful hiccups. "You were never a woman---"

"Rejection," he says quietly. "I know how it hurts. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"Thanks," I mumble, before crying again. 

I really don't know what's wrong with me. Why am I crying like this? I wish I could stop. Rube must think I'm insane. 

"If it's any comfort," he says softly. "You would have gone through this even if you didn't die."

It isn't really a comfort. And yet, I still lean up and kiss him. Oops.

Why is he kissing me back?

Oh, wow, he's kissing me back. Rube is kissing me back. 

Holy fuck, he's a _really_ good kisser. 

He ends it first. He puts his hands on my shoulders and wedges us apart. "What the fuck did I..." he mumbles and trails off. "God, George, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise," I say. "It was good. Really good."

"I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't tell me nice things," I tell him. "Just... just... um... can you kiss me again?"

"Why would I do that?"

Hmmm. Good question. _Why would he do that?_

"Well... because, surprisingly, I like it when you kiss me," I admit. 

My cheeks are on fire. Damn it, blushing really, really burns! 

"Peanut, I shouldn't," he says in a gruffer voice than I've ever heard him say. 

"C'mon... I was dumped royally. I deserve a rebound, don't I?"

"Then, go to a bar, pick someone up, and don't tell me about it."

Hang on. Where did my coffee go?

I turn my head and look at the coffee table. The two mugs are there. Hmm. Rube must have moved them when I had another meltdown. He's smoother than I've ever given him credit for. 

"Rube... I... I... I don't want a stranger."

"Well, that's what rebounding girls do."

"I'm not a girl. I'm a reaper. Besides, when I died I was considered an adult, legally, so---"

"Georgia, you know what I mean."

I snap my head up. 

He sighs. "Go home."

I really don't want to go home. I feel... like I did last night. But more. And I didn't think that was possible. But, it is, oddly enough.

"No."

"Well, you can't stay here."

I raise my eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Because I'm leaving."

"All men go," I mutter, feeling a weight sinking in my stomach. 

"Peanut... all men don't go," he says quietly. 

I sigh and frown as he tries to slip away. 

"You're doing it now."

"Yeah, but not---"

"Why? _Why?!_ Why are you doing it now, Rube?"

"Because I'm really not your type," he replies. 

"I'm prickly, you're prickly, I order bacon and you eat it for me, and... and... and you are my type," I babble. My mouth does the strangest things when I'm upset or nervous. Before I died, I'd just shrug and walk away. Something changed when I died; I found my central nervous system or something. I don't know. But, I'm still babbling. I don't know why. "I like the way you smell. And... and I like that you give me a hard time. I thought I'd hate that, but I don't. I really... I don't think this is just a rebound."

"I never want to be someone's rebound."

"Why not? You could go to one of those bars, with all the cougars, and just clean up---every single night."

He smiles a bit. "I don't want to be that guy. I like who I am."

"I like who you are, too."

Rube smiles more. This time, the smile reaches his eyes. God, those eyes are so perfect. _Perfect?_

"I also like that you see me. Not Millie. I don't like how Millie looks. She's... pale and sickly looking," I add quickly. 

"George is pale, too."

I straighten my shoulders defensively. "Yeah, but I have freckles."

Rube laughs. I don't think I've ever heard him _really_ laugh. We're still touching, and through that touch, I can feel the laugh vibrating into me. It feels really good. 

"I know," he says softly, after brushing his finger over the bridge of my nose. 

"That felt good," I whisper. 

"Yeah?" he asks, before doing it again. 

I nod and demonstrate on him. He smiles and closes his eyes; I let my hand touch his cheek, too. Before I can pull away, he turns his head and kisses the palm of my hand. I can feel a little stubble, but mostly warmth and the kiss. Then, he kisses my wrist and I feel my pulse quicken. 

"We shouldn't," he tells me. 

"Maybe we should," I reply. "Maybe it's one of those things we need to do."

"Need?"

I nod. "Yes. Need. Because... maybe because reapers are supposed to be together. Because they're the only ones that understand each other."

"And when one of us is through being a reaper?"

"Then, it's sad... but... but at least we had a second chance to feel really alive."

 _Who is talking?_ Me? I can't talk like this! I'm not poetic at all. I'm... short, abrupt, to the point. And I curse a lot.

"Peanut..."

"Shut up and kiss me."

 _Whooooooa._ Who am I and where did my script come from? Why am I suddenly so...

Oh, god, he's leaning in and kissing me again. He's the kind of kisser that makes your toes curl---and you don't expect it, so your toes curl even more. My insides are curling up, too. 

When he puts his hands on my back, I gasp softly. He almost bites my lower lip, and then he really gives the kiss his all. 

No drool. That's good. I don't like a guy who drools. Not that I've had much experience with kissing guys, but I remember reading in a magazine that it wasn't a good thing. I can't imagine it would be a good thing. Who likes drool, anyway?

I put my arms around his neck and move so I'm in his lap. His hands slide down to my hips and he holds me there. 

"Don't move," he whispers into my mouth.

"I wasn't planning on it," I reply as I lift my lips from his and smile. 

"No... I mean, no wiggling."

"Been a while?" I tease. 

"Peanut."

I shake my head. "Say my name and you've got a deal."

"George," he whispers, leaning in to rub his nose against mine. I can barely feel the touch, but all of a sudden, I can barely breathe nor can I remember who I am. "Beautiful George," he adds quietly. 

"Mmm..."

I'm moaning. Oh, good god, I'm moaning. I must sound like such a lovesick schoolgirl. Any minute, he's gonna kick me out and toss me onto the sidewalk. 

He could just drop me out the window. I heal quickly and he knows it. 

He picks me up. Before I can ask why he's kicking me out, he sets me down on the bed. 

It's a really soft bed. 

"Nice," I whisper hoarsely. I clear my throat and blush a bit. 

He smiles. "You're nice."

"Nice isn't a word I'd use to describe myself," I tell him. 

It's not. Really. I've been described as difficult, smart, obnoxious, annoying, alone, isolated, weird... but never nice. 

Am I too girly if I admit that I like it?

"You're only nice when you let people see how nice you are," he whispers as he unzips my sweater. "And, you look very nice on my bed."

"Have you thought about me on your bed before?"

"What if I say 'no?'"

"Then, I'm gonna call you a liar again."

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "Alright."

"You missed."

"Well, I will apologise for that," he tells me, before kissing my lips. I chuckle against his mouth and wrap my arms around his neck. 

We take our time. Trip was a little rushed, trying to get to the good stuff; with Rube, I'm realising that the beginning stuff _is_ the good stuff. 

I'm moaning again. God, how girly am I? 

He smiles and stops kissing my lips. I try to look disappointed; but, then, he kisses down my neck. The sweater doesn't last long, and soon it's being thrown down onto the floor. He smiles up at me again and then kisses me a bit more. 

This is... just... oh, god... he's gonna get my tank top wet if he keeps that--- _what is he doing with his mouth?_

When Rube chuckles against my skin, I feel myself squirming against him. That makes him tease me even more. 

Before I know it, I'm whimpering---Ohmigod, _whimpering?_ I am such a girl!---and crying out for him. My body's tight and then all there is a moan and some shaking, and then I'm breathing really hard. 

This is sooo fun! 

"You're so responsive," he comments in a lazy voice as I relax a bit. 

"God... how'd you learn to do that?" I ask quietly, while brushing my hands through his short hair. 

"If I tell you, I'd have to kill you."

I grin. "You can't kill me."

He smiles and kisses my lips once. "Let's take this a little further."

"Mmmkay."

Soon, I'm undressing him and he's teaching me things. He's not teaching me in that structured way---Lesson one, how to remove a shirt properly; Lesson two, how to kiss a man's chest to make it really good. Instead, he's teaching me by showing me. I like it. I think he could teach me a lot. I think he is teaching me a lot. And it feels really, really good. 

"How do you want to do... it?" I ask after we're both pretty well naked and thoroughly worked up. 

"How do you want to do it?" he asks. 

"I don't know. I've only done it once," I remind him. 

"On your back?"

"Sadly, the guy wasn't much more imaginative than that," I admit. 

"It's not a bad way to do it," he tells me. I shrug. He smiles and lies down. "C'm'ere and kiss me."

I straddle him, making sure I don't fall on top of him in the process. "Like this?" I ask quietly, feeling shy for the first time today. 

Rube nods. "Yeah, just like this," he replies as he rubs his hands down my back. They rest on my hips for a moment before gently pushing me down. 

"Hold on. What am I supposed to be doing here?"

He takes my hand and puts it around his---oh, whoa, that's supposed to fit inside of me? Was Trip that big? I don't really remember. I don't think he was. Am I that big inside? Is there---

"Take a deep breath," Rube whispers, shaking me from my thoughts. "Look at me, Peanut."

"Don't call me that," I scold with a smile. 

He smiles back and leans up to kiss me. I really like how he kisses. I also like that he tastes of coffee... and him... and a little of me. Not that I knew how I taste before today. I figured that out today, and I don't like the taste of just me; I like the taste of me on him. 

I really like being _on_ him. 

Oh, this is so much better than last night. 

He pushes up and I can feel him down there. Almost in, but not quite. Feeling braver, I put my hands on his chest to brace myself and I slowly push back and ease myself down. 

It doesn't hurt, but it feels a little weird. I feel stuffed. Ha. Stuffed. 

"George?"

"I'm okay... just... gimme a second," I tell him. "I swear, I'm okay. It's just..."

"Are you sore from last night?" he asks, looking surprisingly concerned. 

Is he concerned because a crucial part of his manliness is buried inside of me and he has doubts about my ability to perform? Or, is he just concerned?

"N-no," I reply quickly, unsteadily. 

"If you are, it's okay. We'll go slowly, or stop, or---"

Where did this guy come from?

"No," I say, with much more stability. "I don't want to stop. I like this. I l-like you."

"I'm pretty fond of you, too," he says quietly. "Just breathe, and relax."

I swallow and nod as I inch lower. Once we're completely together, I shudder. I think I'm still a little too young to completely appreciate sex. I'm like the kid in biology---in my case, Marty Bartlet---who laughed when he got too uncomfortable with the lesson. 

"George?"

Oops. I started to laugh. 

"Sorry," I whisper, blushing. "It's not you... I just... you're inside of me."

"You have too many thoughts inside your head," he tells me. 

He's probably right. 

"How many thoughts do you have inside your head right now?" I ask. 

"Three."

I smile. "What's the first one?"

He moves against me, making me moan. As I close my eyes and slowly start moving with him, he whispers: "The first... I'm really, really lucky."

"Mmm..." I was going to say something, but his hands are moving. I can't think or talk when his hands are on me. Great, great hands. Man. I want them on me all the time. 

"The second..." he continues. 

"The second?" I echo. 

He smiles and brings one of his hands up to my head. His fingers tangle in my hair---in the good way, not the painful way---and he tugs me down for a kiss. 

The kiss lasts for a while. It makes my stomach tighten and I know we're moving more. I feel hot and sweaty---and he feels hot and sweaty too. I can barely breathe... again, in the good way. 

"You fit in my arms perfectly," he whispers when I pull back a bit for a quick breathe. 

I smile and roll my hips. "I kind of do, don't I?" I whisper back. 

He nods and puts one of his hands on my hip. He rocks me back and forth, rolling kind of like the ocean does. 

Everything is happening too fast, but too slowly, and I don't quite know what I'm supposed to be doing. He just keeps moving us and I don't care what else he does; everything feels so good. 

He groans a couple of times and then tugs me back down for a kiss. My breasts are small, but they feel squished against his chest. I'm not uncomfortable though. The one time I went to a dance in high school, someone asked me to dance, and we were so squished I wanted to punch his lights out. Now, I only want to get closer. 

What is this? Lust?

What did I feel for Trip? I thought it was love. But... 

Hold on. 

_Is this love?_

_Was Trip only lust?_

Oh, god. I can barely breathe again. 

_Am I in love with Rube?!_

"Peanut?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

I look at him. I'm sitting up again. I'm still on top of him, he's still inside of me; but I'm sitting up. And we've stopped moving. 

"Y-yeah. I'm---"

"You've got to stop thinking," he teases. 

"Can reapers get pregnant?"

_Am I in love with you, Rube?_

He smiles and shakes his head. "The joys of being undead."

_Yes, yes, I am._

"Oh, good," I murmur. I trace over his lips with one of my fingers. He kisses its tip and then moves quicker than I've ever seen him move before. 

How'd I get on the bottom? I tried this last night and didn't like---

Yeah, scratch that. Being on the bottom isn't so bad, afterall. It's much easier to kiss him from down here. 

And he's much stronger than I've ever given him credit for. 

Rube's really good at this. I know I shouldn't compare, but how else will I know the difference between good and bad sex? Trip didn't even get me off once. Rube's already given me one cli---god that sounds so... clinical. He's already done it once, and I really think he's going to do it again. 

I don't know how he changed the way he pushes into me; but, he has, and it feels really good. His breathing is hot and heavy against mine, which, I'm guessing, is also hot and heavy. 

When he shifts his weight to support himself on one arm, I look up at him and say, "This isn't the Olympics, no need to---"

His other hand slipped down between us. His fingers are doing things that really should be in the Olympics. 

"Y-yeah," he groans as I feel myself tightening up again. "There's a need."

"Mmm... okay," I moan back, arching against him. I widen my legs more, lifting one of them so it's almost hooked on his hip. He pushes harder with his fingers. 

I squeal. It was brief, but it was still a squeal. 

He chuckles and kisses me again. I feel completely boneless. No bones in my body. I am a pile of liquid woman, moaning and whimpering and occasionally squealing. 

_Fuck_ that is what I'm always going to call a good orgasm. 

I barely register my legs moving; he's moving them. It's awkward for him, but when I catch onto what he's doing, I help. I cross my ankles behind him and put my hands on his shoulders. 

"C'mon," I whisper. "You've been holding out for too long."

He replies with a kiss and several really good thrusts. I feel like liquid, nailed to a bed. Nailed really, really well. I'm not going anywhere. 

When he gets off, he groans and mumbles something inaudible. Don't know what it was. Don't care. It felt good against my shoulder, and I'm guessing it was good for Rube, too, by the way he's relaxed and breathing hard against me. 

I relax my legs and hold him. He's still inside of me, but I don't care about that either. It feels good. I feel whole. 

"Want me to move?"

"Not yet," I whisper back. "What was the third thought?"

"Not telling," he whispers. Then, he sighs. "I still have to leave, you know."

"Shh."

"But, I am coming back," he says. 

"I don't need a lie," I mutter, feeling deflated. I think my bones are coming back.

"I'm not lying." He lifts his head and kisses me. "I am coming back."

"Can we do it again when you come back?" I ask quietly.

He nods.

Nope, no bones yet.

The end!


End file.
